La Lora

From my soul, when I see you,
poor and aged light,
a thousand memories of your life
like a sweet illusion.
When we played together
in the courtyard of the tenement
you asked me for the ring
to swear our love.

I remember that little dress
that hugged your figure,
tight at the waist,
the little skirt of percale,
the black silk stockings,
the shiny little shoes
and even the short steps
you took while walking.

Back then, only tangos
were played by the organ grinder
and in the tenement courtyard
we knew how to dance them.
There were no flophouses,
no cars, no morphine,
or ether, or cocaine,
or whiskey, or cabaret.